


All Crows are Liars

by SilverDust09



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya becomes Lady of Winterfell and is still banging Gendry, Arya is not happy about Sansa's betrayal, Book Jon, Bran died in the cave, But not because of stupid bells, Dany and Jon get a happy ending, Dany is not Mad, Dany torched King's Landing, F/M, Fix- it for ep 4-6, Fuck Westeros, He is a Blackfyre, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon gives no shit about Tyrion's holocaust speeches, King Bloodraven, Missandei RIP, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegal lives, Sansa gets what she deserves, Sansa is the new Littlefinger, Tyrion is a manipulative little shit, Varys has motives that make sense, fAegon was posing as Harry Strickland and killed Cersei, history repeats itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 02:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19053574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDust09/pseuds/SilverDust09





	All Crows are Liars

The smell of sweat and piss filled his nose as he entered the black cell. It had been where his Uncle had been imprisoned after trying to depose King Joffrey and it was here where Tyrion had been sent after his treachery had been revealed. Not only had he sold information to Euron Greyjoy to take revenge against the Dornish, but he had also withheld the information about Aegon Targaryen’s supposed survival.

 _My supposed half-brother_ , Jon recalled though he had never spoken to him in person. He was dead now, burned to ashes like half of King’s Landing.

 _The result of his own doing_ , he knew though the taste of ash and death in his mouth still lingered on. Far and wide, they called his wife the Mad Queen, but none of these fools bothered to understand the reasons. For them, she was cursed for being born from the Mad King’s seed, but so was Jon, though he had kept this secret close to his heart after Bran and Lord Howland Reed had revealed the truth to him and his sisters, though he had told Dany the truth after the Night King’s defeat. Still, the war against the Night King had cost them much and the sudden appearance of Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his Name had shaken his wife’s confidence in her cause. At first, they had refused to believe it, but when they had crossed the Trident and had spoken with Lord Edmure Tully they had been confronted with the truth. As Jaime Lannister had told them upon his arrival in Winterfell, Queen Cersei had indeed conscripted the help of the Golden Company, but the foolish woman had been so blinded by her pride that she hadn’t even recognized that she had allowed the enemy entrance into her city, namely Aegon Targaryen, supposedly the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen…

“Did you even listen?” Tyrion asked him after he had finished speaking, but his words had been nothing but drizzle to Jon’s ears. He had once called Tyrion his friend, but now he knew the bitter truth. He had been manipulating him from the very beginning just as Varys had tried to manipulate Dany. And now Lord Tyrion was trying to do it again…

His words had been well-chosen and Jon knew that he had tried to appeal to his “honor”, but he had long learned that “honor” was an abstract concept that rarely fit reality.

“Aye, I heard you,” Jon replied and sucked in a deep breath. “But your treachery remains a fact, no matter how many teary-eyed speeches you are giving me, my Lord.”

Then, he stepped closer and knelt down in front of Lord Tyrion, trying to get a better look at his scarred face in the darkness of his cell.

“Do you honestly think I have sympathy for slavers? They deserved to burn. The same goes for these Khals you mentioned. How many cities have they pillaged and how many women have they raped? You think they wouldn’t have raped Dany as well? No, you know the answer yourself. You are a smart man. And my _supposed_ brother, he murdered the people she had left at Dragonstone. Or have you forgotten, my Lord? Missandei was only one of many. Can you blame her for wanting revenge?”

“Your wife burned women and children,” Tyrion reminded him and pulled on Jon’s arm. He had wrecked his brain for days about this matter and had always come to the same conclusion. It didn’t matter to him. He had no right to judge her for taking revenge. He himself had caused the death of thousands of Wildlings when he had betrayed Ygritte’s trust. He himself had murdered good Northmen during the Battle of the Bastards. Gods, he had even murdered a child. He had also helped Sansa to feed Ramsay Bolton to his own dogs and had enjoyed it. _No, I hell is waiting for me as well._

“Stop being such a hypocrite, my Lord. As if your father didn’t do the same,” Jon countered and pulled his hand away. He had tried to keep his rage at bay, but it was still there, simmering low in his gut. “He may not have burned them alive, but he had Princess Elia and Rhaenys butchered like pigs to win Robert Baratheon’s trust. And Robb’s wife…your father rewarded Roose Bolton for cutting her babe out of her stomach and allowed him to murder my brother’s bannermen in the hundreds. The way I see it, a Lannister has now right to judge a Targaryen.”

“What about a Stark?” Tyrion asked, his eyes piercing into Jon’s. “Would Lord Stark have done the same?”

The mention of his Uncle was the last straw. His anger overwhelmed him and in the blink of a moment he had wound his finger’s around the dwarf’s neck.

“Do not ever bring up my Uncle again!” Jon couldn’t help but to snarl. It took all his strength to hold himself back. “Lord Stark would have gladly allowed me to rot at the Wall if it meant to protect Robert’s precious claim. Aye, I owe him my life, but that is all. I was never a Stark. I know that now nor do I want to be one. House Stark is dead to me.”

Exhaling deeply, he let go of the dwarf and watched him gasp for air. It filled his heart with a rare pleasure he hadn’t felt since killing Ramsay Bolton. Mayhaps Tyrion was right and this was the touch of madness inside him, but then he had also seen his sister Sansa smile when Jon had fed Ramsay Bolton to his own dogs. The same could be said about his sister Arya, who had murdered every male member of House Frey. No, darkness was something that lingered in every man’s heart. It had nothing to do with madness.

Realization showed on Tyrion’s face. He must have realized by now that Jon knew the truth about his and Sansa’s plot.

“How did you find out?” Tyrion asked, his voice laced with sudden fear.

“Varys twittered like his little birds, before Dany fed him to Drogon,” Jon explained and graced Tyrion with a last smile. “We played you the entire time. Are you surprised? Well, I only followed your advice. It seems I finally learned how to lie.”

“Sansa wanted the North,” Tyrion confessed and dropped his head in defeat. “It was she who told Varys and the Northmen about your true birth. She also made a pact with him. In exchange for giving Aegon the Riverlands and the Vale the North would remain independent by her marriage to him.”

This was new to him.

To Jon it felt like a kick in the guts. He had known that Sansa had betrayed his secret to the Northmen, but he couldn’t believe that her ambitions had driven her this far…

“I see, so Aegon was not the only reason Varys tried to poison my wife,” he muttered to himself, finally realizing the truth that had been in front of his eyes all along. Then, he laughed. It was a bitter laugh, fresh anger stirring inside him. It made him wish he could revive Varys and feed him to Rhaegal. “All his concerns about my wife’s supposed madness were just another lie, weren’t they?”

He didn’t even want to wait for Tyrion’s answer and rose to his feet.

“Spare your breath, my Lord,” he added and walked back to the door. “Your words are as false as your concern for the innocents that died.”

“Farewell,” he added and left him to the darkness. “Farewell, my lord.”

…

He found Dany in the ruins of the throne room. The Iron Throne was still here, looming above them like a dark shadow.

Yet everything looked so peaceful, covered with heaps of ash.

Occasionally, he saw Drogon’s or Rhaegal’s massive wings, casting shadows on the ruins below.

“When I was a little girl, my brother told me that King Aegon’s throne was made of a thousand molten blades,” she said, but didn’t dare to get closer, let alone sit on it. “He also told me the story of King Maegor the Cruel, who had impaled himself on one of the many blades. I am afraid to sit down.”

Her voice had trembled at her last admission, her violet eyes feverish and her silver hair in disarray.

“Then don’t sit down,” Jon told her. He had wed her barely two moons ago and that made him a King, but he had no intention to rule over these lands. The thought alone made him want to empty his fast. It wasn’t like he didn’t think himself capable of ruling nor did he doubt Dany’s ability to rebuilt what the previous wars had destroyed, but in the end he had come to the final conclusion that his second life was too precious to waste on these fools. “Leave the Seven Kingdoms to the people who think themselves so much better-equipped to rule.”

“Like your sister,” Dany replied, her voice laced with bitterness. “I would have long burned her alive if she wasn’t your blood.”

“She won’t rule the North,” Jon promised her and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword. “I will make sure of that. She betrayed my trust too often.”

“And your other sister?” Dany asked as her eyes darted to his sword. “You think she is going to allow you to butcher the Queen in the North?”

“I am not going to kill her,” Jon explained his true intentions. “I am going to take everything she ever wanted and will allow her to live out the rest of her life knowing that she is utterly alone. That will be punishment enough. In regard to the rulership of the North, I will hand it to Arya. She was always more of a Stark than the rest of my Uncle’s children. She will make a good Lady of Winterfell or Queen or whatever she wants to call herself. I also trust that she will find a capable successor or a husband if that is her wish.”

A moment of silence followed as Dany seemed to ponder his words.

“And then?” she asked and drew closer. “What will we do once everything is said and done?”

Jon smiled at her and took his hand in her own. Then, he leaned down and kissed her sweetly.

“I hoped you would show me Essos,” he revealed and brushed his fingers through her silver locks. “I want to meet “your people.”

Another moment of silence followed and Dany’s gaze darted to the throne, lingering there for a long time.

Jon didn’t move, allowing her to choose, his heart pounding wildly.

Yet when she turned back to look at him and touched his cheeks he knew that she had made her decision.

“Aye, I want to go home,” she finally agreed, her eyes wet with unshed tears.

…

When he entered into the great hall he found Sansa seated in the high seat of Winterfell.

He looked everything a queen ought to be, but Jon felt only disgust and hatred when he looked at her. He had never liked her mother for the cold looks she had given him as a child, but at least Catelyn Stark had never lied to him. She had always shown openly what she thought of him.

Sansa was so much worse. He had trusted her and forgiven her numerous times, but this last betrayal had cut too deep.

“Jon,” she said, surprise evident on her face. “I didn’t expect you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied and graced her with a false smile. “You hoped that I would be long dead, didn’t you? And my wife too.”

It took only the blink of a moment before her face changed to the frozen mask she wore whenever she was addressing the Lords of the North. It made her look so much like Catelyn Stark that it was easier to speak bluntly.

“I did no such thing,” she denied the truth and climbed slowly down the steps, her hands folded in front of her. “Has your wife told you that? How do you know that she was not lying to you?”

“My wife told me nothing,” Jon told her and brushed his hand over the pommel of his blade. Then, he graced her with a savage smile. “Lord Varys twittered like a little bird before Drogon devoured him limps and bones. And Lord Tyrion, who is now facing execution, told me the rest. Truly, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to me. You always were a spoiled little girl. First, you betrayed father to the Lannisters. Then, you betrayed the North when you were conveniently withholding the information about the Knights of the Vale. And at last, you also betrayed your own good-sister. And for what?”

“For the North,” Sansa defended herself, her blue eyes cold and bright like frost. “All I did was for the North. You threw it all away for a silken cut…for a tyrant…a Mad Queen,” she was about to continue her rant, but within the blink of a moment Jon had unsheated Longclaw and was pointing the sharp tip at her. This had been enough to shut her mouth.

“Call for guards if you like,” Jon taunted her. “But you would die anyway. Rhaegal would kill you and so would my _supposedly_ mad wife.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sansa stuttered. He saw the fear on her face and enjoyed seeing her squirm. “Arya wouldn’t allow it!”

“Arya wouldn’t want me to kill you,” Jon granted her. “But that doesn’t mean she is against seeing you punished. She was appalled when I told her about your betrayal. You swore a vow at the heart tree…a sacred vow.”

Sansa looked like slapped and backed away, the tip nearly touching her slender neck. It would be so easy to kill her, but then Arya would never forgive him.

 _Punish her if you must_ , she had told Jon during their last meeting in Storm’s End where she had visited her lover. _But kill her and I will take your life, brother._

“Punish me?” Sansa asked fearfully and was about to open her mouth again, but Jon’s blade, who had moved ever to her neck silenced her at once.

“Aye,” he told her and smiled. He hoped Catelyn Stark was watching too. “You are hereby stripped of your title and lands. You will leave the North to Arya. You can go wherever you want. I am sure Edmure will be pleased to have you or mayhaps your dear cousin, now the Lord of the Vale, would be pleased to take you as his Lady wife.”

Sansa’s mouth opened and closed, her face full of disbelief.

“You cannot,” she said at last. “The Northmen love me. They would never allow it.”

“They are using you just as they were trying to use me,” Jon gave her the truth. “Once one of them has buried his cock between your legs and has fathered a child on you they would forget about you, foolish sister. And if you want to fight, well we can do that, but I think it would be hard for your three-thousand Northmen to go up against my wife’s remaining allies. Asha Greyjoy is still loyal, Lord Yronwood was pleased to be named Prince of Dorne after wedding Doran Martell exiled daughter Princess Arianne, Uncle Edmure is hardly able to put up a fight, Lord Arryn is a solider, Lord Gendry owes his lordship to my wife and the Westerlands will go to Lady Brienne’s unborn babe. The Northmen are stubborn men, but even they are not stupid enough to throw away their lives for you. They will drop you the moment Arya arrives to lay claim to the North. I am only sad that I won’t be here to see how Arya takes care of these fickle fools.”

Sansa had listened in silence and her face had grown paler and paler with every word spilling from Jon’s lips.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked again, not holding back the disgust he felt.

“I did,” she said in a trembling voice, tears glittering in her eyes. “But you must believe me, Jon. Your wife is manipulating you. She only cares for the crown. What would father say if he saw us fight?”

It was another one of her games of manipulation and he wouldn’t have it.

“Dry your tears,” he admonished her angrily, but lowered his blade. It was true. He could never kill her, despite the rage roaring in his chest. “I have no use for them, foolish sister. Shed them for the Northmen you killed by withholding valuable information from me. Shed them for your father and his companies whom you betrayed for your beloved Joffrey. And please, do not bring up father. He would be ashamed of you.”

He sheathed his blade and shook his head in disappointment to hear only silence from her.

He had hoped to hear an apology or regret.

“I want to see you gone on the morrow,” he told her at last and was about to turn around, but Sansa’s voice stopped him.

“It was Bran who told me to do it,” Sansa called after him. “He said it is necessary. He said that everything would work out the way we want if I did it.”

Jon felt as if he had been struck by thunder.

“Bran,” he said and searched her face. It was filled with tears. _Another lie_ , he told himself, but when Sansa fell to her knees and stretched out her hand towards him, he knew that she wasn’t lying. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he is no longer the person you know,” Sansa explained and searched is gaze. “He is now the Three-Eyed-Crow. He told me that he is meant to be King. I never cared about the Targaryen boy. All I wanted was the North…my birthright.”

“Aye,” Jon said, a horrible realization washing over him. “Aye.”

Then, she shifted his attention back to Sansa. Her weeping and pleading meant nothing to him.

“A birthright you don’t deserve. As I said before, you will leave on the morrow and appoint a regent until Arya comes North to take her rightful place as Lady of Winterfell. Act against my orders and you shall pay dearly for it.”

He left her then and went to seek out his brother, his heart heavy with confusion.

He couldn’t wait. He needed to know.

As always, he found Bran’s wheelchair placed beneath the weirwood tree, a flock of crows seated in the crown of the tree, watching his every movement.

“You finally came,” Bran said in his usual indifferent voice. “It seems my gamble failed.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of his words and drew closer, the cracking of the snow beneath his boots the only sound in his ears.

“Your game?” Jon asked in shock. “Bran…What are you saying?”

“I am not Bran,” he told Jon. “Brandon Stark died on the day the Night King entered the cave. I am Bloodraven…the cause of the fall of House Targaryen…and I nearly succeeded in my goal: to take what was denied to me.”

Jon couldn’t help but to frown at his admission, his mind a storm of confusion.

He had heard about Bloodraven and none of it was good.

“But why?” Jon asked. “Why would you destroy your own house?”

“I am a bastard,” Bran, no Bloodraven, replied. His voice was no longer indifferent, but filled with hatred and pain. “Like you. I did my duty and how did they thank me? By banishing me to the Wall. I should have been King. Not this fool Egg or all those that were seeded by him. They never had it what it takes to rule.”

“So you wanted revenge,” Jon tried to understand his reasoning and unsheated Longclaw in case the ravens might attack him any moment. “What were you hoping when you convinced my sister to reveal the truth to Varys and Tyrion? That I would kill the woman I love for a bloody crown?”

“In another reality you did,” Bloodraven replied coldly. “But it matters not. I lost and you won. Kill me and be done with it.”

Jon would love to do that, but this body belonged to Bran, his little brother.

“The boy is dead,” Bloodraven told him as if he was able to read his mind. “And he won’t ever come back. I tricked him…I lured him to the Broken Tower where he would find the Kingslayer and his sister. Later, I entered his dreams and lured him North. I needed his body to survive for another hundred years. I fooled him just as I fooled your father by planting visions and prophecies into his mind. Humans are so gullible to dreams and visions.”

Jon wanted to strike him down, but he stopped his blade midway, realizing what he was about to do.

No, his anger wouldn’t serve him now.

Death was what Bloodraven wanted and Arya would never forgive him for killing Bran. This would only cause more bloodshed, another spiral of revenge. He had already lost Sansa, he didn’t want to lose Arya too.

And mayhaps Bloodraven was right, a cynical thought entering Jon’s mind.

Mayhaps Bloodraven was exactly what Westeros deserved.

Jon liked that thought and smiled at Bloodraven.

“I won’t kill you,” Jon mocked him and sheathed is blade. “And you can have the throne. My wife and I shall bother you no more. Good luck with your crown.”

Then, he turned around and reached out for Rhaegal’s mind as he used to do with Ghost, his loyal beast that had perished against the Night King.

It was time to seek out his “new home”.

…

**Fourty years later…**

Drogon’s black wings spread wide as he descended towards the ancient castle overgrown with greenery.

And even so, its beauty was visible for all to see.

“Aemon,” his wife’s sweet voice caused him to turn around. With pride, he watched as his sister Rhaena climbed from Rhaegal’s back. Dressed in red and black silks she looked even more beautiful. Yet the most beautiful thing about her was the smile curling on her lips as she took in their forbearer’s seat of power. “We are finally home.”

Unlike, Aemon she hadn’t been born with silver hair and purple eyes. Her face was long and solemn and framed by brown hair. Even her stormy eyes were more like their father’s had been, a dark indigo colour.

“Aye,” Aemon confirmed and picked up a handful of sand. “We are home, but it won’t be a true home until our children have joined us.”

Rhaena chuckled and touched her swollen stomach. “Greyworm will bring them and this one will come soon.”

“Aye,” Aemon agreed and returned his sister-wife’s smile. “But first we shall re-take what is _ours_.”

…


End file.
